


we’ll be lovers at last

by orginoflove



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I am not sorry, M/M, def not canon compliant, did i avoid writing an actual reunion?? maybe, this is 2k words of peter being sad and gay, worry not dear reader peter still gets his dream lady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15043127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orginoflove/pseuds/orginoflove
Summary: Peter Nureyev dies young, and he never gets a proper funeral, only a false eulogy that flashes across every screen in Brahma. The Peter that stares down at the shattered planet is wide-eyed, young, and afraid. Peter vows to never be that boy again.





	we’ll be lovers at last

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first jupeter fic and i’m very excited. title is from the death cab for cutie song ‘i will possess your heart’ which gives my gay heart feelings abt them. huge shoutout to ollie (@jupeter and @slot-spot on tumblr) for looking over this and telling me how to spell. enjoy!

Peter Nureyev dies young. He buries his name when he buries the man who was almost his father. He tells himself that leaving all of his shame in Brahma will be the end of it, but no matter how far he runs, he can still hear his ghosts rattling in their graves. 

The end starts like this: Peter is a survivor, not a thief. Meeting Mag is an accident. Peter never intends for it to go as far as it does. He knows how to survive, but he wants more. Scrounging the streets for scraps may keep him alive, but it’s tedious and only a crumb short of starvation. It’s not what he’s built for. He has too much potential. (Peter repeats the words to himself when he can, because they’re the only truly kind thing he’s ever heard. Mag has always known the right thing to say.)

Peter has good hands: slim and quick-fingered, perfect for lock-picking. He’s always been slender, and years on the streets with barely enough food to keep him going has done nothing to help. These are the things Mag notices.

It still hurts, all these years later, to know he only ever saw Peter as a tool.

Peter is distrustful by nature. It’s a rule of survival. He doesn’t trust a strange man on the streets or his impossible offers. And Mag respects that. Peter’s rules of survival align with Mag’s rules of thieving. He shouldn’t place too much trust in anyone, or so Mag tells him. 

Of course, Peter’s never been good at following rules. Even his own. He goes from fatherless to playing the role of the dutiful son in mere days. It’s the subtleties that Peter craves: a hand on his shoulder, a word of praise. Mag is all but willing to give this to him. He might have meant it. He probably didn’t. Years later, Peter doesn’t know what thought hurts more. 

Peter learns to take. No one has ever given to him, as Mag says. The only thing left to do is take. It’s small jobs at first, cons that no one really notices. Peter catches on quick. He’s been stealing food for years, and he starts to approach Mag’s requests the same way. They make a good team, if Peter says so himself. But Mag is too ambitious and Peter is too stubborn to back down. The Guardian Angel System is a product of Peter’s own arrogance. He hates himself for it. 

Peter Nureyev dies young, and he never gets a proper funeral, only a false eulogy that flashes across every screen in Brahma. The Peter that stares down at the shattered planet is wide-eyed, young, and afraid. Peter vows to never be that boy again. 

He buries his name with Mag. 

There is a collection of things in his life that makes a man grow old too quickly. Loneliness, starvation, wanted posters baring his face, a man that was not quite his father but could have been. 

Peter Nureyev is lucky to be many men in one body. 

 

 

When one name dies, another takes its place. Peter becomes Orion Silver and then Christopher Aspen and then Isaac King. And someday, he’ll become Rex Glass. That’s a name he wears with flirtation, but the alias is delicate and rubs right off his skin when Juno Steel touches him. 

Juno is a man with a trigger finger like Peter’s never seen. It’s undeniably attractive. If he gets hot under the collar when Juno fires his gun… well, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun.

(“Never get distracted, Pete,” Mag whispers in his ear. Peter ignores it. Peter gets distracted.)

Peter watches Juno as he announces his big solve, with a strange tone that resembles a sort of triumphant fury. Peter smirks. Before, he wondered if Juno would ever find out the truth. Now, it only feels like a matter of when. 

 

Juno takes him back to his apartment. He pours a glass of whiskey, and then another. Peter refuses, and Juno knocks back the second glass, as if he never intended it to be for Peter in the first place. Peter grins and studies Juno’s expression: eyebrows knitted together, a wide scowl. 

“You’re very handsome when you’re like this,” Peter says, a glint in his eye. 

“Getting drunker by the second?” Juno grumbles, pouring himself yet another glass. 

“Morally outraged.”

Juno gets a dangerous look in his eye then, and Peter adores it. So much so that he murmurs in Juno’s ear something that he later forgets. He’s sure he said the right thing because what Juno does next is what he’s been craving the whole damn case.

They kiss. Juno is lovely, and Mars glows like a promise. They part, and he feels something encircle his wrists. 

For the first time in a long time, Peter thinks himself a fool. 

It’s only his first taste of being vulnerable, and already he’s addicted. Juno Steel. The words feel strange on his tongue, like burning stars. Somewhere in Brahma, a name stirs in its grave. 

Peter writes the note behind his back. He’s too much of a sentimentalist to stop himself. It’s only by some spur of the moment urge that he signs his name. He curses himself at first, but as he studies Juno’s face, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to be chased down by this man. He’d even dare to call it pleasurable. 

He takes the first shuttle of Mars. He looks back one last time, wondering if Juno Steel is watching him from below, and smiles. 

 

 

Peter bides his time. It’s what he’s good at. 

There’s a voice in his ear again, and he is reminded of Mag. But Miasma isn’t Mag and she doesn’t wear any masks. Her voice sounds like snapping bones as she rasps orders. Peter takes too long to realize this is history, repeating. This is Brahma all over again, but Peter’s not scared anymore. He isn’t sixteen. 

There’s been an ache in his chest since he left Juno. A sharp sense that keeps him awake. The truth is indisputable. He misses Juno. He hasn’t had the privilege of missing someone in a very long time. 

 

 

Mars is hotter than Peter remembers. Even the nights drive dust storms into Hyperion City, and he turns his collar up as the wind dances with furious violence. The heat persists when he arrives at Juno’s apartment, and even later when he takes Juno to the desert. 

They could have seen the train from a number of places. Peter chose this one. Red sand and stars, Juno’s mouth in the dim light of dawn. 

Peter thinks himself a very lucky man. And he is, if only for a moment. Peter has his happy ending. It’s the aftermath that breaks him. 

As it turns out, Juno’s still got that trigger finger. Peter never thought he’d be the one at the wrong end of the gun. 

Peter wakes up alone. There’s no warmth in the space beside him. He calls out a name and receives no answer. He’s good at leaving. The roles aren’t supposed to be reversed. It turns him inside out. For the first few moments, he breathes. Lets the Martian sunrise wash over him in waves. It takes a moment for the fact of the matter to sink in. 

Peter supposes he owes himself a vacation. Mars still glows, but it looks less like a promise and more like a warning sign. Peter curses himself for not recognizing it before. Juno Steel really has made him into a fool. 

 

 

Peter does what Peter does best. He wanders. Steals. Slips his way in between the gaps of nobility and into the beds of strangers. The galaxy is more monochromatic than he remembers. He visits Phobos and its famous pink blossoms, only to realize they aren’t quite as beautiful as everyone says. On a train eastbound across Deimos, Peter watches the towering stalactites as they pass him by. They’re less impressive in person. It’s strange how one person can ruin every sight for you. 

Peter wanted to take Juno everywhere. Instead, he has a ghost he never wanted. His mistakes won’t stop breathing down his neck. 

But that’s what Peter does: makes mistakes. The only half decent thing he’s ever done was fall in love with Juno Steel, and even then, he manages to ruin it. He puts Juno’s life on the line and expects him to stay without question. Peter has nothing to offer but corpses. Juno sees plenty of those in his line of work. There’s nothing particularly special about Peter’s. 

One day, Peter Nureyev might be a man worthy of Juno Steel, but he doesn’t count on it. 

(Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can only see the line of Juno’s jaw, his head thrown back, the labyrinth of scars on his chest. When he opens his eyes again, he is alone. He probably deserves that.)

He thinks of Mag, and what he’d promised Peter. “There’s a galaxy out there waiting for us. Full of beautiful treasures and beautiful people,” he’d said. Peter used to be so eager to take from it. Now, he is only tired of taking. 

 

 

He’s winning at poker in a casino on one of Centurion’s sleazier moons when he hears the news. He’s making polite conversation with his opponent, cataloguing the movements he makes when he’s lying, the way his eyes narrow when he gets a particularly good card. Peter’s good at this.

The man he’s playing against is powerful, someone Peter wouldn’t want to provoke. He keeps their conversation light, flirtatious even. It’s unexpectedly easy to charm him. Until the man brings up politics, and the corner of Peter’s mouth curls up into what could be called a polite sneer. 

Peter’s never had to worry much about politics. He never stops his travels, wanders from one planet to the next without a second thought. He likes it that way. (Liked it that way). There’s not much of a need to bother with trivialities like elections. Peter considers himself above such things. No one rules over him, and that’s what matters.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t pay attention. Peter’s line of work requires powerful friends, as he once told Juno. He knows who is most influential and knows what power plays have taken place. He’s not an idiot. But Peter hasn’t been truly invested in politics in a long time, and of course Juno Steel has to take that from him too. 

But ever since Mars, Peter’s become… distracted. It’s why he’s so surprised when he hears the man opposite of him make an offhand comment about the new mayor of Hyperion City, a word about Pilot Pereyra’s disappearance and the mayor’s lackey, a detective of some sort.

Peter doesn’t bother with formalities. He pins the man against the wall in a second and slides a knife out of his pocket to press it up against his throat. A clatter sounds from behind him, presumably an innocent bystander or employer dropping their chips. Baring his teeth, Peter asks, “Where is he?”

“I- What are you talking about?” The man’s eyes are wide as he stares down at the blade flashing against his throat. 

Peter blinks. He steps back, noticing all of the eyes on him. 

“Forgive me, sir, I’m afraid I lost my head for a moment there. It’s my ex-husband, you see. He died rather recently, on Mars I’m afraid. Pardon my rudeness,” Peter says. 

The man stares at him. 

“I don’t suppose we could resume our game and you could continue with your thoughts on the political crisis on Mars,” Peter says, smiling widely. 

 

 

After Peter’s narrow escape from Centurion, he takes the first shuttle to Mars before he can stop himself. He has a contact on Mars, though it’s not one he is enthusiastic to use. 

But he knows Juno Steel. If there’s any trouble on Mars, Juno’s already neck deep in it.

He dials the number on his comms. 

 

 

Buddy Arukino is just as fierce as he remembers. She orders Peter to meet him in the Cerberus Province. She gives him coordinates, but Peter doesn’t know the exact location by heart, so he takes a while to stumble through the sea of hooded figures and begging strangers. The desert is as he remembers: blistering, dusty, miserable. 

When he finds Buddy, he nearly loses his composure. By her side is Vespa, who, if Peter remembers correctly, should be long dead. She’s at Buddy’s side, and every point of contact between them should be impossible. But it’s not. It gives Peter a faint flicker of hope.

Buddy crosses the room, the same fire in her eyes, even after all these years. She’s poised, holding a cocktail glass with the utmost elegance, but Peter recognizes something strange about her. Something that keeps her usual sway out of her steps. Vespa walks with her, and Peter wonders why Buddy could possibly be upset, with someone she loved by her side. 

Buddy loves the same way she does everything else. Recklessly. Peter is familiar with the feeling. 

“Viktor Gold,” Buddy says. “I’d say I’m pleased to see you again, but we both know that would be a lie. What brings you back to Mars?”

“Miss Arukino,” Peter replies, “Charming as always. And who might this be?”

Buddy’s eyes flash. “That’s not the matter you called me to discuss.”

Peter sighs. “True, true. I need you to tell me about Hyperion CIty.”

“What’s there to tell? Place is a goddamn mess, like it always has been.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Peter says, eyeing Vespa still.

“Ah, you mean the new mayor. What’s a con man like you need with Hyperion City politics? Planning on overthrowing a government? Last time I checked, that’s not your style, Gold.”

Peter laughs darkly. “I don’t care about Ramses O’Flaherty. I care about where Pilot Pereyra decided to spend the rest of their days.”

Buddy’s expression doesn’t change, but Peter gets the feeling it should. “They disappeared ages ago. Rumors say they left town before the election. Couldn’t handle losing.”

“Miss Arukino, you know very well that I’m not here for rumors,” Peter says. “I want to know what happened to Juno Steel.”

 

 

In the end, the only information that Peter wrangles out of Buddy is that Juno Steel is alive. 

The rest is a coincidence. Just when Peter’s planning on cutting his losses and searching somewhere else, he hears shouting. 

“Get your damn hands off me, I can walk fine.” Peter knows that voice. The footsteps draw nearer. 

Peter sees Juno Steel emerge, eyepatch slightly lopsided and hair tousled. 

Peter didn’t want this. He only wanted to know that Juno was alive. He made a promise to Juno, a long time ago, in a moonlit hotel room, when he thought it would be the two of them, forever. 

He turns to Buddy and says, “Miss Arukino, it’s been a pleasure, as always. But if you’ll excuse me-“

“Peter?”

Peter doesn’t mind the slip of the tongue. Buddy will assume it’s an alias. Besides, he’s too busy staring at Juno as though it’s the last time he’ll ever see him. It most likely is. He breathes in, opens his mouth. 

Juno kisses him before he can say a word. 

 

There’s a galaxy of beautiful people and beautiful treasures awaiting Peter. Juno Steel might just be his favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos and a comment if you liked it! find me @starmotels on tumblr if you want to scream about tpp with me.


End file.
